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CAT | Athletics
When we get finished running for the entire period, we see Kenny standing on the bench naked. He doesn’t have a boner. In fact, his dick is shriveled so small you can barely see it. I’m not sure, but I think it was more embarrassing for him showing off his shriveled one, then me showing off my boner. He does have a ton of hair though.
“You men have to learn to work as a team, so this weekend you will work”
The group arrived one by one and in some cases twos or threes. The huge house had already been rebuilt, rewired and ready except for the painting.
And that was the team’s job.
When I was 13 I went to my first football camp. I was a late enrollee so I didn’t have any choice about my room mate. I ended up with another late enrollee who was going into his senior year of high school. His name was Jim. He was 18 and Black. I went to Catholic School and had never known a black person before. He was very interesting to me. I had no prejudice ideas because I really didn’t know any blacks except for the neighbor’s cleaning lady. She was very nice.
I’ve been trying to lose weight for as long as I can remember. I’m spending my junior year of college in Spain, and I even joined the gym here–during my supposed time away from responsibility–to try to reach my goal. There’s nothing I hate more–well, besides Nazis and fish gills–than exercise. But losing weight is important to me, so I joined the biggest gym in my Spanish town.
For a short guy, he did a ton of work around the gym. He played an integral part of running the place. He always helped members with anything they could need, and he did his best to make sure nothing was ever out of place. The dark haired kid had a bright youthful smile. He was thin framed but he was by no means little or frail. He used the gym just enough to stay in shape but stop himself short of massing up. Daniel wanted to make Joel proud of his decision to hire him. Joel trusted him a lot.
I walked into the high school, entering the shadows to escape the blistering heat of the August day. The sun beat down and my forehead bled sweat down my face. I had just come from watching the baseball team practice, my lust for the players outweighing my discomfort in the heat. Practice was over, alas, and I would have to content myself with fantasies of sweaty jocks and bubble butts for the time being.
I jogged down the stairs into the boys’ locker-room and was immediately overwhelmed with the stench. My friends and I called it the “stank”, a smell that was both revolting and intoxicating. It smelled of sweat, piss, cum, ass, and B.O. It smelled of men. I walked over to my locker and dialed the combination. I grabbed the towel and soap I kept in there and headed to the showers where I proceeded to stand under a stream of cool water for about ten minutes. I heard the clatter of feet on the floor of the gym that was above the locker-room and heard the baseball team come down the stairs. The locker-room was split into two identical halves, and I was on the opposite side of the team. I heard them laugh, joke, shower, change and then leave. I was alone.
I felt comfortable going on the road with the team. It was minor league but I was playing baseball and that was all that was important. I didn’t have any great hopes of ever making it to the big leagues, but I was proud to wear the Colts uniform. All I had to do was keep my little secret and be on my guard around the other guys. I’d done okay so far, but now we were going on the road and I would be sharing a room with another guy in closer, more intimate quarters than the casualness of the dugout. I was greatly relieved when I learned that I was odd man out on the room assignments. That meant I was rooming alone. So I was okay till we got the news that John Brocker was coming down to the Colts minor league. Brocker was a major leaguer who had been in the papers and all over the news for speaking out so bluntly against gays and coloreds. They were sending him back to the minors to get his head on straight and his shit together; a form of sensitivity training, they said. He was a true homophobe. And I wasn’t colored. We got a lecture before practice about Brocker’s arrival. “Okay, listen up. You’ve all heard the rumor that John Brocker is joining our team. The rumor is true. When he gets here, you don’t give him a hero’s welcome or make a big fuss. That’s straight from the front office. He is one of you. Treat him that way. Brady, he’ll be rooming with you.” I felt a chill go down my spine and sweat break out on my forehead. John Brocker was not only the biggest homophobe on the planet, he was a stud, and I was going to have in my room! How the hell was I going to manage to be around the big muscle-hunk who was so damned good looking he made girls piss their pants if he even looked at them? I couldn’t protest or question the decision, though. It was a simple matter of me having a room to myself and there was another guy who needed a place to bunk. If I’d been black, maybe I could have protested. But like I said, I’m not black. I am gay and I couldn’t admit it. Brocker arrived in the team van that picked him up at the bus station. Yeah, he had to bring the bus to training camp. He got his gear out of the back and set it down and looked all around. Godd, he looked studly standing there in his uniform with those tight pants hugging his massive thighs and that big bulge of his cupped manhood and his butt sticking out in back like he had two melons stuffed in his pants.. “Brocker, join us!” the coach yelled. He picked up his stuff and tossed it in the dugout and came onto the field with the rest of us. He didn’t act snobbish or anything. Cocky, maybe, but that was his natural demeanor. “Guys, you all know John Brocker. I’m not going to make introductions; you guys can introduce yourselves. Now, let’s play some ball. Brocker, you take left field.” He didn’t say anything. His expression didn’t show that he was unhappy about not playing center field or second base, the positions he played in the majors. He sauntered out on the field with the rest of us. The coach didn’t treat him any differently than he did the rest of us, but we did. This was John Brocker, and he was good. He was better than any of us, but he didn’t act like it. After practice we boarded the bus and hit the road. It was sort of sad and lonely; nobody there to say good-bye to anybody. They didn’t allow that. We stopped to eat supper about seven. The guys, including me, were afraid to sit with Brocker and he ended up taking a booth by himself. “Fuck, guys, I took a shower this morning,” he complained. Jason Wright poked me and said, “Let’s go sit with him.” We got up and walked over to Brocker’s booth, along with another guy. The other two slid in on one side and I ended up sitting next to John. He couldn’t scoot over; his size required his full half of the seat and our legs touched when I sat down. He jerked his knee away. The conversation was strained at first, till John eased the tension. “Look guys, I fucked up, didn’t keep my mouth shut. I’m not sorry I said what I did, although I had to make a public apology. So now I’m here and I gotta tell you I don’t mind it. I hope you don’t mind my being here.” “Naw, man, we don’t mind,” Jason said. “We just need a little time to get used to rubbing elbows with a major leaguer,” I said.
I have been obsessed with men’s underwear as far back as I can remember. My first pair ever came from a friend of my folks. Ray was married to Tessa. Tessa was Mum’s workmate and we would go there for BBQ’s in summer. I was about 12 yrs old at the time. I remember being obsessed with Ray. Even at 12 yrs of age I still noticed how attractive he was. He would have been in his very early 30’s at the time. He played rugby league with my Dad and they were drinking buddies at our local. Ray used to wear League shorts all the time. They were always short and fitting, something I found very, very sexy! Every now and then I would catch glimpses of his undies or his ball sack hanging out when he was sitting down. I would purposely sit at good vantage points to get the best view. He was a very lean athletically built man and I adored him.
17
“Naked Gymnast Weekend” — Part One
0 Comments | Posted by posingstrap in Athletics, Camping
“It’s sure getting colder,” Chico said, looking out the sliding doors, “–but at least it’s not supposed to rain.”
“The sun’s still hot, though,” Tony said from the sofa. “It’s going to be great. We can always use that wood stove, huh, Jordan?”
I brought out a round of beers. We clinked bottles and sat in my parents’ beatup, cabin furniture. “As long as we cut more. My dad really gets pissed if I use his precious woodpile.” I laughed then. “I swear he actually counts the logs!”
After working out I would always hit the gym’s jacuzzi–and usually Julio, Jerome and Tim did the same. We weren’t really friends–just four guys who’d come to rely on each other for spotting and occasional assists. No one else was built or experienced enough to trust that way. But after a while it became usual for us to arrive at the same time, and finish our workouts with a good hot soak. Any talk centered around advice and comments on how we were doing in our routines. So it was a total 180 for me to suggest we break in the new cabin I’d recently rented in the hills outside Boise.
